Undertale - Fallen
by ElectricJ
Summary: Nine humans fell. One died by their own hand. Six were slain by monsters. One lost their humanity. One saved them all. This is the story of the eighth human. Rated T for violence and cursing. Contains spoilers for Undertale's Pacifist and Genocide runs.
1. Watch Your Step

**Howdy! ElectricJ here! I don't use that handle anywhere else, but, uh, here's my first fanfic that I feel is decent enough to put online. Undertale belongs to Toby Fox and not me, etc., etc. Don't keep reading if you haven't played Undertale, by the way. Story's an AU but there's still more than a few spoilers up ahead. Yes, the main character is an OC. Please don't kill me.**

 **Er, but without further ado, I present:** ** _Fallen._** **I'm not great with titles. Comments, criticism, dating advice. Just, uh, leave that if you want to.**

 **EDIT: Fixed the clunky formatting in dump 1! Wow, this crap looked a lot better in the word document.**

You're going to prove your classmates and teachers wrong; you just know it. With a digital camera in your bag and a flashlight in your hand you're going to climb that damnable mountain and settle years of academic squabbling. Monsters are real and they are interred under Mount Ebbot. The legends are true, you're sure of it. A brisk autumn breeze numbs your exposed face, but you still clamber over stones and grass. You're **really** not supposed to be out here, a thought that makes you bite your lip nervously.

But you can't turn back after so much careful planning. You had to wait for weeks for your father to finally give in to his temptations and get drunk enough to let you out this late. You can't waste this golden opportunity. Cheeks burning red from the cold, you stumble through a twisted copse of oak trees and into a clearing. That's when you find a lead- or, rather, a gaping hole in the mountainside, ringed by tall grass that scratches at your calves as you march closer. There's neither fencing nor trails near this place- which means that the potentially dangerous hole is unexplored. Brilliant.

You're glad that the moon is out tonight. Any darker and you'd be forced to use your flashlight and draw unwanted attention to yourself. But… It couldn't hurt to shine the electric light down this hole, right? Trembling, you fall into an army crawl and bring your head just over the lip of the pit. You're immediately hit by the sweet fragrance of flowers. Flowers!? What are flowers doing down there? You bring a hand to rest over the hole alongside your head and click your flashlight on. Cold, white light fills your eyes with tears that you do your best to blink back. What you see shocks you- or, rather, what you don't see. There's no visible bottom to this pit. Indeed, it seems that its walls end and that it opens into… A wider hole, perhaps? But you can't tell how deep that is, either. Your powerful flashlight, an impressive 1000 lumens, cannot even shed light (heh) on the mystery of this pit.

You crawl backwards into the grass and shakily rise to your feet. This might be the entrance to the fabled underground realm of monsters, maybe even the very pit through which they first entered the subterranean prison. Gathering your wits, you drop your bag, pull back its frigid metal zipper, and fumble for your camera. Breathlessly, you slam your thumb into the power button and begin recording, flashlight clutched white-knuckled in your other hand. "Th-this might be the entrance. To the, uh, land of monsters. That sounds kind of silly, but, uh, I think this might be it. I'll need to come back with climbing equipment and-" Damn your habit of pacing while walking! You've managed to catch your foot in one of your backpack's straps. You tumble forwards, and your hands scramble for purchase. They're met only with air, and in one horrifying moment you realize that you're falling down, down, down. Into the depths of the mountain.

THUMP. Ow. Your entire body is wracked with pain. Wait, you're ALIVE? You open your eyes and twist your head this way and that. You're in… A black void? It's warm and you can vaguely hear a voice echoing around you. Someone male, laughing, only to be interrupted by a soft, undoubtedly female voice. You try to move, but to no avail. You cry for help.

But nobody came.

Will you be trapped in this pitch-black purgatory forever? You feel a heavy, throbbing pain pulse through your body, and the male laughing grows father and farther away. Then, in the distance, you hear the male scream. All is silent.

And then you're awake. For real, this time. You're sure of it. These surroundings are too, uh, not-inky-blackness to be a construct of your imagination. You hope. You can't move your aching head too well, but your eyes roll around to take in the room- a child's bedroom, you're sure of it. The opposite wall has naught but a round mirror and childishly simplistic dresser made of some unidentifiable light wood. Beside your bed sits a nightstand of similar construction. Atop the nightstand is a small lamp with a white, floral-printed shade. It's not currently emitting any light.

You consider calling for help, but decide that you might as well save your energy. There's no need to alarm whoever it is that saved you from that hole. Introductions can come later, when you don't feel so tired and… light? Yes, apart from the dull pain pulsing through your body there's a weird lightness, as if someone filled you with helium. And the bed is strange- you're warm and covered in sheets even though the bed itself can't be larger than a twin size. You sigh and let your eyelids flutter shut. You should really stop worrying so much about trivial crap. You're not dead. That's enough.

The next time you awake, the pain's mostly gone, but the lightness persists. The room has gone from dim to pitch-black, and you feel like you're being watched. You're not sure how you know, but you know: someone is in the room with you. And they speak, with a woman's voice: "My child, I am sorry for turning out the lights but… I thought that we should talk before you see the condition you're in." You squeak audibly. The condition you're in? Are your legs broken? Was your spine snapped in twain? Will you never walk again? Despite the darkness of the bedroom, the woman notices your panic and laughs softly. "Do not worry, my child. You are well. You took quite the hit on your fall, though. You are lucky to be alive!" You hear more quiet laughter from her. Though you haven't even seen this woman, you feel the urge to trust her. There's something so warm and genuine about the way she speaks- almost like a mother to her child. "Tell me, have you ever seen a monster?"

You shake your head before remembering that she probably can't see you, and speak quietly instead. Your voice is scratchy and broken, but you manage to tell her that no, you haven't seen a monster before and you're not entirely sure if they even exist. She speaks again, this time in a much more sombre tone. "My child, monsters are very real- and well… How do I explain this?" Your breath catches in your throat. What is this stranger getting at, and why are you suddenly so scared to see the lights turned on? "I suppose I should give you some context. You see, monsters are different from humans in many ways- particularly in how they fight. They can use magic to target the very souls of their opponents… But their own souls are weak and fragile."

What? Souls? Is this woman going on about religion? She takes your silence to mean confusion, and sighs. "Listen… It is difficult to explain. Something out there, neither human nor monster, attacked you. What it did to your soul should have killed you… But it did not." Wait. "So, let's get this straight," you respond, "you want me to believe in magic, and that it can be used to attack peoples' souls? Listen, ma'am, I want to thank you for hauling me outta that hole but I really don't have time for this-" She sighs again. Apparently she's just as tired of your disbelief as you are of her nonsensical rambling about magic and monsters. With a loud _click_ , the lights come on.

You scream. It's all you can do.


	2. Good Morning!

**ElectricJ here! I'm dumping the first few chapters in a batch and will continue to do batch uploads because I'm lazy! Here's chapter 2. In which things happen. Enjoy, or don't.**

You're face to face with a tall, fanged, white caprine monster with ruby-red eyes and small but sharp horns protruding from its forehead. Of course you screamed. Who wouldn't? It's obviously been stunned by your terrified reaction – it hasn't murdered you and eaten you for supper. Yet. You fumble with the crimson quilt of your bed and end up falling out of it and onto soft, white carpet, face-first. The carpeting cushions your fall, but not your pride. Too scared to look up and face the beast again, you wait for the end to come.

And wait.

And wait.

Instead of fangs at the back of your neck, you're treated only to soft, melodic laughter. You feel a firm-yet-gentle furred hand lift you up by the collar of your shirt and lay you down carefully back onto the bed. Why hasn't it killed you? If you were a giant killer goat-monster, you would've killed you by now, if that makes any sense. You open your eyes, and again you're face-to-face with the monster. A look of absolute melancholy is painted onto its white-furred muzzle, and its brilliant, blood-red eyes seem to be filled with a thousand years of wisdom and sorrow. You're stunned by the otherworldly elegance of this creature. It speaks again, and you realise who the proprietor of that soft, feminine voice was.

"Do not be alarmed, my child. It is I, Toriel, the one who rescued you from that terrible demon. Do you not remember?" You vaguely recall pain shooting through your body, accompanied only by terrifying laughter. Did this monster, this "Toriel," save you from… From whatever it was that was hurting you? Again, you feel the overwhelming urge to trust the strange monster. "I know you're not him, but… You remind me so much of someone I lost. You- you look like you could have been his big sister." She blinks back tears and shoots you another melancholic smile. She, uh, "lost" another human? Were they killed by another "demon," another "thing that was neither human nor monster?" You have so many questions for Toriel, but you don't even know where to start your line of questioning. Your life was saved by some sort of tall, caprine monster, and that means…

That means you're still underground, doesn't it? Monsters don't live on the surface, after all. Unbidden tears fill your eyes and your shoulders shake with an inaudible sob. You're going to die down here, aren't you? Even with Toriel protecting you, you're going to be killed by a "demon" sooner or later. You're never going to see sunlight again. You're never going to see your friends again. You motion to bury your face in your hands, but your sight is filled with small, four-fingered, stubby white paw-like hands instead of your usual phalanges. For the umpteenth time that night, you're scared shitless. Where did your hands go? You unbend your legs and look at your bare, shoeless feet- to see them replaced by small, soft paws. You cry out in fear and confusion. What in hell happened to you?

Toriel's eyes widen and she quickly moves in to comfort you. "I thought you were taking that a little too well, my child. You see, when your soul was-" "Bring me a mirror. Now." You grit your teeth and prepare for the worst. Whatever the hell has happened to you, you don't have high hopes for your face. She stands up stiffly and brings the mirror from the wall. She prostrates herself before you and presents the mirror. Instead of your usual, androgynous, unremarkable countenance, you're greeted by…

A muzzle. A MUZZLE. You look like you could be Toriel's kid, for Christ's sake! You've even got stubby little horns and small-but-sharp fangs that give you a decidedly predatory appearance. No wonder you were warm last night, when you were covered in FUR. And oh god, your ears. Gone are your rounded, human ears, replaced by floppy, white-furred goat ears that hang down to your neck- which reminds you that your shoulder-length brown hair is gone. Atop your head is a mere tuft of white fur. Your eyes are larger, too, and shine with the same ruby colour as Toriel's. You're just as much of a goat monster as she is.

Suddenly, all of those questions you had about being trapped underground are swept away by an overwhelming concern- who did this to you, and how can you change back? Toriel sees the fear in your eyes, and sits on the bed beside you. She slings an arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer to her as your chest begins to heave with more silent sobbing. You're not even human anymore. You're some sort of monstrosity that- until recently- you didn't even know existed. Your body feels foreign, nothing moving the way you remember- your fingers twitch awkwardly whenever you try to move your non-existent pinkie, and your paws are, well… You're just going to avoid walking for as long as possible. That seems entirely reasonable given the circumstances.

It's Toriel's turn to interrupt your thoughts as she voices her concern. "Child, I know this might be a lot to take in but… You should be thankful that you are well." If being turned into something with paws constitutes "well," you don't want to know Toriel's definition of unwell. "I understand that your form might take some getting used to. When I found you, you were a battered and broken human lying in a bed of golden flowers, soul snapped in half by that creature's magic and bones broken by your fall. You should have been dead, by all accounts. Nothing could survive having its soul destroyed so thoroughly- yet you kept breathing and your heart kept beating." You instinctively clutch a clawed, pawlike hand to your chest and feel the soft pulse of your heart- a metronome in these uncertain times.

"I hoped against hope that you would somehow survive- I fought off the creature and took you back here. And although most of your soul had vaporized in the flowerbed, a small portion stayed with you. I did not realise the full significance of this until a few days later-" Wait, days? How long have you been down here? "when your horns started to grow in. I was astounded at first- I had seen many human children fall and come through here, but I had never seen a human with horns. As your changes continued, I grew more and more mystified- until I remembered. Your hopelessly shattered soul- that tiny portion that refused to die, anyways- must have changed somehow. So I started examining it. What I saw was…"

Her eyes gain a faraway look, and you're not entirely sure if she's talking to you directly anymore. "It was quite the sight to see. Your soul, or what was left of it, radiated magic day after day, growing something new- with its last bit of determination, your human soul died and a monster soul was born." You're not really grasping this, save for the fact that this woman is clearly mad. Magic? Monster souls? You'd start yelling at her for being absurd but there is the fact that you've been mysteriously transmogrified into a monster. You grudgingly admit to yourself that this Toriel might be telling the truth and let out a long, exasperated sigh, the side of your head coming to rest upon her shoulder. Despite everything, this monster-woman does have a trustworthy air to her. Perhaps it would be in your best interest to stay with her? For now, anyways, at least until-

And you've fallen asleep on her. How unprofessional of you.

When you next awake, you're tucked back into bed, and your nose is assaulted with the warm scent of cinnamon. You hear Toriel singing a few rooms over- you can't catch the words of her song, but the melody is light and soothing. You find yourself humming along to it for a few moments before groggily moving a hand in front of your face. Still four stubby fingers. You sigh and let it fall to your side, atop the red quilt. You're a bit tired, still, but the pain is gone and you can think somewhat clearly. You sit up with a quiet grunt and throw the covers off of you. It's time to face your new- where are your clothes?

You look down. You're wearing clothing, but it's certainly not yours. You're clad in purplish, silky robes with a curious white emblem on the front. Come to think of it, wasn't Toriel wearing a similar ensemble? You shrug and swivel to plant your feet on the floor. No, wait, you have paws now. Your new pawpads are impossibly sensitive, and the feeling of the fibres of the carpet rubbing up against them sends shivers down your spine. You hope that you'll get used to this. You move your weight forward in order to push yourself into standing, but you misjudge how much force it'll take to right your lighter body (why is it lighter, anyways?). You topple forward onto your hands and knees. Hopefully Toriel didn't hear that. You'd like to surprise her.

More carefully, this time, you right yourself. Standing is strange with your new digitigrade stance and the joints that were your ankles now consist of little more than solid, inflexible bone. In a way, it's like you're on stilts. You giggle at the thought before tipping forwards once more. You've almost made it to the open door of your bedroom- the hallway outside has a light, polished wooden floor and florally-wallpapered vanilla walls. Again, you right yourself, and again, you step forward. You stumble, but manage to catch yourself on the doorframe. Right, then. Toriel's singing is coming from your right. As long as she continues, you should be able to find her.

You stumble down the hallway as quietly as possible, your left hand to the wall, staggering with what must look like a limp. You can do better than this. You try to force yourself to grin, only to bite your lower lip with your new fangs. You draw a hiss of breath through your teeth. That HURT. You unsteadily stagger away from the wall and attempt to straighten your back. You'll be the picture of perfect posture, damnit! Your walking is stiff-but-even as you make your way into a new room, unadorned with furniture. An ominous stairway leads down into what must be a basement- the occasional icy-cold draft comes up the stairs.

You shiver and walk past it. To your left is a thick oaken door- maybe the front door- and ahead is Toriel's voice, growing louder now. You realise that you've been locking your knees up and force your legs to relax, giving your strides more fluidity. Perfect. Poise. You're going to impress Toriel; you just know it. The thought strikes you as odd for a moment. You hardly know this woman, yet you're going to great lengths to make her proud. You shrug inwardly. Whatever, at least you have an incentive to get used to your new body- and if you happen to come into the good graces of that kindly goat monster from earlier, well, that wouldn't be so bad. God knows that you were lonely on the surface. You pass through another threshold into what must be the living room.

In front of you sits a dark wooden table with three matching chairs pushed in around it- a bouquet of flowers sits atop it. To your right is a simple leather armchair, perched to the left of a roaring stone fireplace. You idly wonder where the chimney flue goes, seeing how you're underground. You can't imagine that Toriel would flood the cavern with soot- she seems too considerate to do such a thing. To the right of the fireplace is a truly impressive bookshelf, carved from the same dark wood as the dining room table and crammed full of books of all sorts of colours and sizes. They look to be incredibly well-worn, bordering on ancient.

You pry your eyes away from reading the spines of the old tomes (a disturbing number are about snails, for some reason) to continue your adventure. You walk past the dining room table, toward the entryway on the back left corner of the room. It's through there that the smell of cinnamon is strongest- along with the sound of Toriel's voice. Even this close to her, you can't make out the words to her song- it's either in a tongue you do not speak or without any actual words. You press onwards, through the entryway.

Before you stands Toriel, cheerfully singing what you think is a lullaby. It's certainly not in English, and you suspect that it's in a tongue that no human has ever spoken. Regardless, it's beautiful and intrinsically calming. You can feel the nervous fluttering in your changed chest settle down- sure, you're not human anymore, but in this kitchen, facing Toriel's back as she washes off cutlery by hand, you feel at peace with that.

Right, then. You came here to see her. You should probably announce yourself. Raising a closed hand to your muzzle, you nervously clear your throat- Toriel's short tail (which you've somehow only just now noticed) twitches in surprise as her back stiffens. "Hello?" She quickly turns to face you, and you're face to face with her chest- she's more than a head taller than you, after all. You look up and try your damnedest to grin winningly. Good first impressions, right? You take a step backward and she begins to laugh openly- and, for no real reason, you find yourself laughing alongside her.

The awkwardness of your approach, your forced grin… You have to admit that you've made a fool of yourself once again. Toriel stifles her laughter for long enough to shoo you out of the kitchen, saying something about a "surprise." You walk back to the living room and let yourself sink into the armchair. Its cushions depress with an audible sigh- as do you. You let your eyes flutter shut as you listen to your hostess's resumed singing. You ignore the voice in the back of your head telling you to panic about your lost humanity as you begin to drift off, nostrils filled with the scents of food and home…


	3. In the Making

**Howdy! I'll keep this intro short. Here's the end of dump 1. Hope it's not crap.**

 **Heh.**

Time passes. You learn from Toriel about these ruins, about the history of monsters. About the genocide committed against monsterkind. Days stretch into weeks, as you use powers you've never known. Magic trickles from your fingertips with more and more ease every day, until the golden sparks of magical electricity you've taken to summoning forth come as naturally as breathing. You help her catch snails for her delicious snail pies (you were disgusted by the concept at first, but you've since adjusted) and learn more and more about magic and monsters. Weeks stretch into months.

At first it was a slip, but with increasing regularity you're calling her "Mom." Your old human family feels more like a bad dream than a past reality. You have trouble remembering your old face. For that matter, you're not sure if you want to. Month after month, you find yourself adjusting to this new form- and you love every moment of it. For the first time in your life, you're looking into mirrors and feeling satisfied with what's there. Not an awkwardly androgynous human that never fit in, no, but a blossoming young boss monster with a future ahead of her and hope in her ruby eyes. You move with an easy stride, loose robes billowing around you and magic crackling in your palms.

Despite all of this, on a frigid November morning, you find yourself thinking about whatever lies beyond the ruins. It's been a long time since your fall, and everything in your life has changed. You absentmindedly crack open a snail-shell with your fang, slurping out the delicious creature within and lazily discarding its shattered home. You know that you were sent to gather them for a pie, but mom won't miss a couple, right? Just a snack? You walk away from the golden flower bed that cushioned your fall (though according to your mother, it did a terrible job) and towards home. You've got enough snails. Ish.

Today, you're growing more and more restless. What IS out there? Treasure? New friends? Perhaps a way to shatter the barrier is hidden out there amongst the other monsters, and you'll be the one to find it. The possibilities torment you now more than ever as you trot down massive, empty hallways fringed by purple brick. Your wicker basket half-full of snails should make a lovely dinner. Your stomach rumbles in agreement with your mind as your paws begin to crunch through red, fallen leaves and your eyes rest upon the oaken door of your home. You settle one handpaw on the worn cast-iron knob and turn it- the door is never locked. Everyone down here knows better than to mess with Toriel's lot.

"Mom, I'm home!" No answer. You enter and quickly go to the kitchen to deposit your basket of snails on the white-tiled counter. Wherever could she be? You head back into the entry room and head down the stairs into the long, purple-brick hallway that leads to the door out of the ruins. Not that you'd leave, but… Padding along this cold corridor towards that door fills you with something you haven't felt in a very long time- determination. Not as much as you knew back when you were human, but you feel a pang in your chest as you consider your future. You're not a human anymore, so you could never pass through the barrier. You're, well, probably going to die down here. You think about Toriel's vague stories of "Asgore," the king of the rest of the underground. Six human children slaughtered. You might have been the seventh, but… You grin outwardly. Sure, it was unfortunate that you nearly died falling into a massive hole but you're okay now. You're okay.

A massive, purple door engraved with the Delta Rune, ancient symbol of monster royalty, stands before you. An ice-cold draft runs through the crack under the door and twists its way down the hall. It carries no smell. You idly wonder if there's any more boss monsters out there. Maybe… Maybe someone for you to be with? A blush colours your cheeks as you consider the possibility. On the surface, you never really dated, preferring your academics and writing to the contact of others. Down here, though, you're a new person. Perhaps… On another day. You cannot leave Toriel alone in this place- the other monsters are too afraid of her to keep her company, and calls on your cell phone are no substitute for person-to-person contact. You sigh and turn your back to the door, as you hear a creaking sound upstairs.

Toriel is home, and you're alone in the tunnel out of the ruins. This won't look good. You hear her voice echoing down the halls, calling for you, as you break into a sprint, bounding towards the stairs at the end of the hall. You take the steps two at a time and, out of breath, lean against the bannister and shoot your mother what you desperately hope will pass for a casual grin. She glares at you solemnly and makes a motion for you to follow her. She leads you into your own bedroom and sits on your bed, setting down a mysterious package beside her. You sit on her other side as she clears her throat awkwardly. "My child, I know what you were doing down there." Oh. God. You tense up and wait for angry accusations to fly from the monster, but are met only by a tired sigh.

You're reminded of the first time you saw her, same melancholic expression stuck in her eyes as she gives you a once-over. Her eyes meet yours as she begins to speak, softly at first. "On this day, one year ago, I found a young human lying bloodied and bruised atop a bed of golden flowers, being tormented by something out of a nightmare. On that day, I fought that horror off and carried the human back in my arms, broken soul stuck in her breast and bones shattered by her fall. I was certain that she would die."

Tears begin to well in Toriel's eyes as she continues, voice swelling to its normal volume. "But she did not. Despite everything I thought I knew, that human's soul persevered until they were no longer human. And when that former human awoke, they responded to the world around them not with the malice I had come to expect of their kind… But with love and mercy." Tears begin to flow from your own eyes, carbon copies of Toriel's, as she takes your hand in hers. She shoots you a wistful smile and laughs to herself quietly.

"And that young monster grew, not physically, but in every other way. Every day, I grew prouder and prouder of that monster- until I found myself proud to call her my child. But I do not think that title fits you any more, does it? You have grown. You are still my daughter, but…"

You wrap your arms around her and close your eyes, letting your muzzle come to rest above her shoulder. You can't communicate the joy swelling in your chest as your tears wet your mother's robes. "You are an adult now. These ruins seem expansive, but the more you learn about them the smaller they feel. I cannot keep you here, my child. Doing so would be a terrible crime." With one claw, she tears at the brown paper binding the mysterious package beside her. You withdraw from your embrace as she shakily brings something into view…

A camera, held as carefully as one might hold an infant. A dull memory resurfaces, of a spindly, furless hand grasping at its black plastic as another gripped the steel of a flashlight. This was your camera back when you were human. But now, can you even accept this? More memories come to you of a burly man with a thick, curly beard and a hawkish woman with bones that formed sharp, painful-looking angles. The humans who conceived you and many years later gave this camera to you. One of their only kind gestures to you- you cherished the camera immensely. Your fall had shattered it, but here it was again, good-as-new. "I have been working on getting this fixed for some time. You used to talk quite a bit about it, you know." You allow yourself a small smile as you remember your old obsession with documenting everything, as if the world might end any day. You suppose that your world DID end, in a way. "I had to work together with many of the monsters in these ruins, but we even managed to save some of your old pictures and videos! Aren't you happy?"

She pushes it into your palms and curls your fingers around to grasp it. "Go on, take a look!" Wordlessly, a press the camera's power button. It responds with a wheezing click as you press another button to view the camera's library. Most recent: a video. You click play, and a reedy voice blares out from the camera, distorted by the device's horrid speakers. _"Th-this might be the entrance. To the, uh, land of monsters. That sounds kind of-"_ You pause the video, unable to stand the sound of your voice. Next. A fuzzy, low-resolution image of a human with her mother's build and her father's nose fills up the entire screen. You freeze up, clenching your teeth. You press a worn button with red paint on it, stylised to resemble a trash-can.

DELETE?: [*NO] [ YES]

DELETE?: [ NO] [*YES]

ARE YOU SURE?: [*NO] [ YES]

ARE YOU SURE?: [ NO] [*YES]

IMAGE DELETED.

The camera beeps twice to signify the deletion as it automatically displays the next image. Toriel looks over your shoulder wordlessly. You expect her to stop you, but she does nothing. You feel her chest heave next to you. This image is of that same human, standing between her parents. Her smile looks fake. You quickly scroll through the deletion options, saying YES as quickly as possible.

IMAGE DELETED

You scroll back to that horrid video, reedy voice still ringing in your ears.

VIDEO DELETED

And again, to the next image, two human children dressed as monsters. One is wearing fake horns. You scowl in response to its vacant smile.

IMAGE DELETED

More humans pretending to be something they are not.

IMAGE DELETED

A yellow bus full of vaguely-familiar humans, contrasting neatly with a sea-blue sky.

IMAGE DELETED

You hold your mother tighter, pushing the old thoughts away. You won't be hurt anymore. You're safe.

You're okay.


	4. Magenta Halls

**Sorry for leaving y'all out to dry for so long! Here's an update. A bit fluffy to be sure, but from here on out our story will pick up its pace.**

 **Humans DO tend to make things more interesting, after all.**

You're trembling all over as you clutch at Toriel, claws digging into her flesh. She hisses at the pain but does not protest her treatment. "My daughter… Are you alright? Did I say something or-" "No, Mom, it's alright… I just…" How can you explain to her why you're so happy to stay down here? How can you explain everything you hated about yourself, and everything that THEY tormented you for? You owe your mother a lot; that's true, but you don't owe anyone this story. Suffice to say that monsterkind has treated you with far more hospitality than anything on the surface.

You press the camera back into her hands wordlessly and look her in the eyes. She gasps softly. "Daughter, do you not care about your memories? Do you not care about the people you knew on the surface?" You consider her question, blinking back tears. "The only ones I care about have been in these ruins." She nods solemnly. "I do not know what happened to you up there, but… I think I understand. You were unhappy up there, and you are happy down here. Is that it?" You affirm her suspicion. "Very well. Perhaps… If the memories down here matter, we might record a few?"

You wonder what she means for a split second before she raises the camera up to your face and presses a button. With a blinding white flash, the camera gains its first evidence of monsterkind- a shaky image of you confusedly glaring at the viewer. Toriel laughs light-heartedly at your expression before passing the camera to you. "My turn!" You press the silver-painted plastic button atop the camera and Toriel's eyes are filled with light. The image of Toriel is much more flattering than your own- she's grinning cheerfully at the camera, eyes wide with expectation. Neither of your photographs belongs in a museum or anything like that, but they're something to remember your mother by. You give her a last hug before she leaves the room for "a second surprise."

Although you appreciate the gesture, you feel a clenching in your gut as you consider what the nature of this surprise might be. Hopefully, it's not another painful relic of your past on the surface. Your fears are quickly assuaged as the door creaks open and Toriel enters with a brown leather satchel clutched in her left hand. It's relatively small, but its lumpy shape suggests that it's full of something. As if reading your thoughts, Toriel undoes the brass clasp keeping the satchel closed, revealing its contents- a folded map of some sort and several mason jars of brined snails. The exterior of the satchel has two smaller pouches sewn into it- one that should fit the cell phone Toriel gave you, and the other should fit the old camera. You run your hands over the smooth, well-cured leather of the satchel, eyes filled with wonder.

Not that you haven't seen a bag with clasps before, no. This one is just exceptionally well-made. Scorched into the flat side of the satchel is the delta rune- it looks as if it's been branded into the leather. You look up at Toriel as you realise what this bag's purpose is. Your thoughts of traveling, the camera, the provisions and map… It all adds up. You unfold the map breathlessly and read over it. It's made from ancient, yellowed paper, and is hand-drawn with fine black ink. To the farthest left of it is a simple oval labelled "Ruins," with multiple roads and trails branching away to the rest of the underground. The scale is dizzying, but you'll have plenty of time to puzzle your route out. Now is a time for goodbyes.

A wide grin splits your muzzle as you regard your mother, who's likewise smiling. You wear the same bittersweet smile and your eyes sparkle with the same unwept tears- you really are her kid, aren't you? She puts her hands on your shoulders one more time and looks deeply into your face, as if she's staring down your very soul (note: if she was actually staring at your soul, she'd be fixated on your chest rather than your face). "Remember, o Dreemurr, to meet your foes with mercy." It's something she's said to you a million times, but in this solemn moment it rings more as an unbreakable vow than an empty platitude.

You have no words, and so you only nod. It's all you can do. You embrace for the last time, fur rubbing up against fur and smooth silk gliding against smooth silk. Then, satchel wound around your waist by a leather cord, you leave your mother sitting on your bed, head hanging low. Neither of you is particularly talented at goodbyes, it would seem.

She does not watch you leave.

You have your food, your phone, and your photography equipment. Er, and a map. That's all you'll need for this journey, right? The soft patter of your paws rings hollowly down the purple-lined hallway as you come upon the gate to the rest of the underground. You push at it with a grunt of exertion and the thick stone door swings outwards. You're greeted by another featureless hallway lined with purple stonework and you advance onwards, carefully looking every which way. What lies up ahead? Is all of the underground bound in purplish stone, or is it simply the ruins? You come upon an open, dark room, not unlike the room where you fell. A small patch of grass grows in the middle of it, and sunlight shines down like a spotlight from some small hole far above you. A lone golden flower stands in the centre of the grass.

The scene should strike you as serene but you're instead deeply unnerved. And that's BEFORE the flower gains a face and starts talking to you. You take a step backward when two large, tar-black eyes and a wide grin split onto the golden flower's plain face as its stem begins to bob back in forth in something approximating a cheerful dance. You're at a loss for words, but the plant sure isn't. It speaks in an over-the-top cheery manner that's stuck somewhere between used car salesman and theme park worker. "Howdy, friend! The name's Flowey! Flowey the flower!" Wow, what a creative name. "We've met, but you were tuckered out from climbing the mountain!" The flower's mouth curls into an exaggerated, cartoonish pout as he begins to talk with a quieter, lilting tone that you suppose is meant to make you feel guilty.

"Gee, I've been waiting for a year to play with you! I can't believe you'd leave your old pal out in the cold like that!" Old pal? What? You've never even seen this flower. His face goes back to that vacant, overjoyed grin as he continues his absurd monologue. "Golly, you're confused, aren'tcha? That's okay. You know I've got to say, I really like what you've done with your hair. Brown really wasn't your colour." He punctuates the sentence with a half-lidded, cocky smirk as your mouth opens and closes like that of a fish out of water.

Tuckered out from climbing the mountain… Brown hair… This flower saw you when you were human. You instinctually raise a finger to your mouth and shush the impudent weed. You really don't want any passers-by to hear about your history. "Golly, you should see the look on your face! It's okay pal; I won't tell anyone. Besides, who would believe a little old flower like me?" Flowey sticks out his tongue and winks in some strange attempt at being… Cute? Trustworthy? Hell if you know.

"Y'know, if it weren't for the height difference and the fact that you haven't thrown any fireballs at me, I would've sworn that you were Toriel. I bet you could pass yourself off as her." The flower's grin widens. "Just a fun fact for my best pal! Anywho, I'd stay around, but I've got someplace to be pretty soon! Wouldn't want to keep a new friend waiting!~" Flowey sinks down into the grass with an audible _pop_ as you stare on openmouthed. Did a sentient flower just present you with blackmail-worthy information before telling you that you could pass yourself off as your adoptive mother? And you thought life inside the ruins was weird.

Body filled with tension, you approach the last purple gateway, a massive carbon-copy of the first. You throw your weight into it and groan with exertion as the stone slowly grinds outwards. With a flash of white, you get your first view of the underground beyond the ruins.

Snow.


	5. Your Pal

**In which we learn something new. Here's chapter 5.**

Loud as a gunshot, the gateway slams shut behind you with a bone-shaking _THUD_. Loud noises were bad enough when you were a half-deaf human. You grit your teeth and wince at the pain in your head, trying your best to ignore the ringing in your ears. You're standing about an inch deep in cotton-white, pristine snow. To your left and right lie thick copses of decaying trees with bare branches and scarred, earth-brown trunks. Ahead lies a wide snow-covered trail.

You dig through your pack as your hurried, excited breaths fill the air around you with white fog. Right, your map. You impatiently crinkle the document in between your thumb and pointer finger as your other hand's claws hook behind a flap of paper and begin to pull, unravelling the carefully-folded map.

The path you're on now is simply labelled "to Snowdin," with several unlabelled trails branching off every which way. There's curious exclamation points scrawled at various points of the trail that you cannot decipher, but the snow-covered road is otherwise unremarkable. "Snowdin" is also marked on the map, along with a few tiny footnotes about an inn and exceptionally-friendly bar & grill. Perhaps you can check those out when you pass through town.

You remember Toriel telling you about her chats with someone on the other side of that big gateway- someone who loved puns and lived in Snowdin. Maybe you'd meet them during your journey! You merrily march through the snow, not bothering to question how it's even snowing underground. You've come to accept that things just _happen_ down here for no apparent reason. It's not like magic can be explained using logic. Yours is an unpredictable, unreasonable world.

You merrily hum a tune to yourself as you pad through the snow, thankful for your thick fur and calloused pawpads. Going barefoot through this weather as a human would have been excruciating. _Shlup._ You pause your tune and turn around. That sounded like… Like something was trudging through the snow. Behind you. You look this way and that, but cannot find anything. With an irritated grunt you continue down the road.

A few minutes later, you hear the sound again, closer this time. You twist your head and find nothing. Are you being followed? You feel your hands go numb as magical electricity comes pulsing forth from your palms. You shiver (though not from the cold) as you twist your head in vain, trying to find your stalker. "Th-this isn't funny! Whoever you are, show yourself!" No response. The golden magic in your hands has formed two crackling spheres of magical energy that you brandish as if they are firearms. "I'm w-warning you! You don't want to m-mess with me!" Your try your best to hide your fear as you look left- and hear a sound to your right. Right, and you hear something to your left. Behind, and you hear a sound in front of you. You are being tormented by an invisible foe.

You already regret leaving the ruins.

You start hyperventilating as you let the electricity fly forth from your hands, creating a great circular arc of static lightning that surrounds you. "S-see? I'm strong! Leave me alone!" The noises stop, and then you hear low-pitched laughter behind you. You spin around, and are forced to look down at the short, wide skeleton before you.

A skeleton in a blue hoodie, with white pinpricks of light in its eyesockets and apparent sentience. You're totally not terrified.

You will away the electrical barrier as you try your best to calm down. They're not really undead, right? Just another monster, like you. Goddamnit, Dreemurr, you really ARE an idiot. The skeleton clears his throat and avoids eye contact (eyesocket… contact?). "whoa, i didn't expect to see a royal out here." He whistles (how does he whistle without lips?) through his seemingly-permanent grin. "honestly i'm impressed. i didn't even know we had a princess." You start. Princess? What is this bonehead (heh) going on about? "don't be scared, your majesty (his snicker at this makes it apparent that he has no respect for royalty), i'll keep your secret." You have a secret, alright, but it sure as hell isn't that you're a princess.

"didn't even know that asgore had kids. not since, uh…" He pauses meaningfully and shoots you an icy glare. His grin seems small and forced for a moment before it stretches back to its usual proportions. "well, you're pretty quiet. i guess i can respect that. it's hard _tibia_ sentry when everyone is asking you questions about your cool brother." Did he. Just make. A bone pun.

He totally did. You're not sure if you ought to laugh or get mad.

You settle on a dismissive huff. "I'm not royalty! I was born and raised in the ruins." It's a bit of a lie, but your current form was "born" in the ruins so you're not being TOTALLY dishonest. The skeleton laughs at your denial. "if you're not royalty, prove it. what's your last name?" You give the bony monster a smug smirk. "Same as my mother's. Dreemurr." It's a bit of an odd last name, yeah, but your mom isn't royalty by any stretch of the imagination.

The skeleton doubles over with uncontrolled laughter. "oh my god, you're actually serious. this is _hilarious_." He suddenly stops laughing and pulls himself up to his pitiful full height. "uh, i didn't get your name. mine's sans. sans the skeleton." You tell Sans your name. He laughs a bit. "weird name for a monster." "Sans is a weird name for a skeleton." "touché." He extends his bony hand towards you. "well, i don't know how you do this in the ruins, but… in snowdin this is how we greet a new pal." A handshake? Alright, that's a bit formal but-

 _PFFBFBLFLTLTBLTBTBLTBLFFLPFBLBLBFFFF_

Of course he had a whoopee cushion in his palm.

"sorry, princess, but i just couldn't resist. it's a classic." You allow yourself the smallest smirk. It _was_ a bit funny, you guess. His grin widens as he winks at you (how do you wink with eyesockets?). "did you like my prank? i've got a ton more… a skele-ton." Oh, that was awful. You snicker, trying to hold in laughter. "anyway, it's a long walk from here to snowdin and i'm feeling bone-tired. wanna see my shortcut?" Bone-tired. Of course he had to make another skeleton pun. You laugh in spite of the sheer awfulness of the joke, and you swear you can see a bit of joy sparkling in those tiny white pinpricks of light that constitute the monster's eyes.

"heh, before we get going, i've been meaning to ask you something…" You nod. Despite your fur, you're starting to get a little cold, and you could really go for a trip to that bar & grill mentioned on the map. "do you know a lady in the ruins? talks really formally, loves bad puns?" Your eyes widen, and that's when you realise-

Sans is one of your mother's best friends, and neither of you even knew his name.

You gasp as Sans' eyes widen. "whoah, lady, did i say something-" "Oh my GOD. Sans, you've been talking to my MOTHER. You were the one she always talked to through that big stone door. You were the one who made her laugh and told her all those horrible bone puns!" The skeleton chuckles good-naturedly. "what can i say, kid? guess she found me pretty humerus." You laugh again (even though his puns truly are the worst) until his eyes suddenly go wide. "wait. your last name is 'dreemurr' and that's your mother's last name…" "Yeah, so?" "i've been telling jokes to royalty." You groan at what you suppose is just an extension of the horrible "princess" prank.

"what's your mom's name, anyway?"

"Toriel. Don't know why you care, though."

"huh. that's funny."

"Why?"

"our old queen was named… toriel. dreemurr."

His voice has gone from its usual bouncy, deep rolling tone to a gravely, harsh tone that makes you want to hide from the short skeleton. For some reason, you can't help but believe him. Someone who sincerely likes bad jokes just has an integrity you can't say "no" to.


	6. THOROUGHLY BAMBOOZLED

**Jeeze, this story skyrocketed pretty fast. Like, uh, unexpectedly fast. Anyhow, just figured I'd write a lil' something considering that this has somehow managed to pass 50 follows and has gone up to a five-digit-wordcount. Thanks, everyone! I couldn't have done it without you. If anyone has any questions about this AU, feel free to ask! There's more differences here than the fall of our main character. Er, regardless, enjoy this kinda-extra-long chapter.**

 _"All the world's a stage,_

 _And all the men and women merely players"_

 _-Sir William Shakespeare_

An awkward silence permeates the air between the two of you as you avoid eye contact. Beads of sweat (how is he sweating?) drip down the skeleton's forehead as he surveys you cautiously. He forces his grin wider and his tone back to its gentle low. "well, we can talk about that later over a nice burg'." You force yourself to make eye contact with Sans and tilt your head questioningly. "y'know, burg-apostrophe. It's short for burger." That doesn't answer your implicit question at all.

"oh, i know a shortcut to a really nice restaurant called grillby's. best grub in snowdin. want to come with?" You think over the question for a moment before deciding that yeah, you trust this guy. Even if he is a little weird, at least he's not a human. You extend your hand towards the skeleton for a real, whoopee-cushion-free handshake. "oh, so you know how shortcuts work?" Your eyes widen as his cold, bony fingers press into the pinkish pad of your palm, and you are surrounded by oblivion.

Not even blackness, because blackness is, well, something. No, you get only the slightest impressions- of bones, of skulls, and, somewhere in the distance, of vaguely-familiar laughter. Then, in a flash of blinding white light, your vision is filled with snow once more. you pant and cling to Sans' cold, hard hand, preferring it to the uncertainty of whatever you just went through. You feel nauseous and your vision is swirling. "sorry, lady. i forgot how hard it is for first-timers. well, we're here, at least." You manage to still your vision enough to make out a large, wooden cabin-like structure in front of you.

Before you know it, your paws are carrying you to the warmth seeping out from under its thick, wooden door. You pull on its worn steel handle and are immediately rewarded with a blast of hot air. Sans stands somewhere behind you, his presence momentarily forgotten- until he calls from behind you "grillbz! two seats at the bar!" Your vision continues to steady, and you're greeted with the sight of about a dozen monsters sitting in various stalls and stools around the wood-floored establishment. Behind the bar stands a man made of fire, clad smartly in a black vest and slacks. You don't try to think about how that works. Too much effort.

Sans steps in from behind you and catches the attention of a few canine monsters to your left, playing a game of poker. A broken chorus of "hi, Sans" rings out from around the bar as you stagger towards the counter. Sans takes your hand again to steady you, gently pulling you into a seat. "you feeling okay, lady? you're acting like someone hit you in the head. uh, no offense." You nod and swing your legs to and fro idly. Sans takes a sit to your left and you're both left with your elbows on the bar, waiting to order.

"so, uh, as i was saying, that's pretty funny. if the pictures in the history books are realistic, you, uh, kinda look like her. a lot." You confirm the skeleton's suspicions and tell him that many people in the ruins mixed the two of you up. "that's hilarious. guess that must have gotten your goat, huh?" He snickers as you realise that he's making jokes about you, now. Ugh, fine.

"anyway, i know we just met, but could i ask you to do a little favour for me?" You narrow your eyes at the skeleton. "What kind of favour?" "well, you know how i was talking about my cool brother earlier? well, he really wants to be in the royal guard, y'know, serving king asgore and all. only problem is that the captain of the guard, undyne, won't let him in quite yet. he's been training for years now and i think it's really getting to him." You're not entirely sure where Sans is going with this but you wave your hand for him to continue. "see, my bro is a huge fan of the king. it's a real shame that he's never even met a member of the royal family. really rattles his bones, even if he won't say so."

You don't like where this is going. "now, i know you're not very happy with the idea of letting everyone know you're royalty." "I'm NOT-" "yeah, yeah, i get it, very convincing. as i was sayin', my bro would be even happier with bein' the first to formally meet the missing queen. that's a win-win situation. my cool bro gets to meet royalty, you don't have to tell anyone who you really are." "That plan assumes that I'd be willing to impersonate my own mother." "c'mon, lady, it'd mean the world to me if you did this." He winks at you (what is it with skeletons and winking?) as you think this plan over. Although you're not proud of it, you DO have Toriel's voice down pat and can do a pretty accurate impression of her. And if you can get in the good graces of an evidently-popular monster capable of teleportation, all the better! You'll even be helping a stranger out, and your mother would approve of that sort of thing.

"So, I just realised that you never even told me your brother's name." "Oh, it's-" With a loud THUD, the door to Grillby's flies open and a lanky skeleton in poorly-fitting armour and a… cape? bolts in. "HELLO, FRIENDS," he cries with a nasal screech, "HAVE YOU SEEN MY LAZY BROTHER?" The bar goes dead-silent and a canine monster in camo pants points to Sans wordlessly. "MANY THANKS, O GENEROUS ROYAL GUARD. YOU ARE ALMOST AS GREAT AS I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS! NYEHEHEHEHEH!" As the skeleton marches closer, his heavy footfalls making the tables around him shake, you can barely make out the delta rune embossed on his breastplate. Aspiring royal guard, indeed. "anyways, as i was saying, my brother's name is papyrus," Sans says cheerfully, as if his brother had not just announced himself. The skeleton draws closer to the two of you and begins shouting even louder, stamping one foot and sending mugs clattering from the shelves behind the bar. If Grillby had a proper face, he'd be scowling by now.

"SANS. WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT BREAKS?" "that they're bad for your bones?" "YES- I MEAN, NO! G-GET BACK TO WORK, YOU LAZYBONES. YOU SPEND EVERY DAY DOING ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. WHY, IT'S A WONDER THAT YOU GET OUT OF BED! IT'S A GOOD THING THAT YOU HAVE A BROTHER AS GREAT AS I, PAPYRUS, TO HELP YOU!" "bro, do you know who this is?" "SANS, IT IS NICE THAT YOU HAVE MADE A NEW FRIEND BUT THAT'S NOT IMPORTANT RIGHT NOW." You turn to face the skeleton head-on. His face is twisted into something approximating an angry expression, though that's pretty much impossible thanks to Papyrus's tooth structure. Forever grinning, just like his brother.

The skeleton flings his arms into the air upon seeing your face, and his grin somehow grows even wider. "OH MY GOODNESS. I AM SO SORRY, YOUR MAJESTY! I DIDN'T REALISE THAT YOU HAD SHAVED. AND GOTTEN NARROWER. AND… TRIMMED YOUR… HORNS." "bro, this isn't asgore." "WOWIE! SANS IS HANGING OUT WITH ASGORE'S CLONE? I WAS WRONG, BROTHER, YOU REALLY ARE-" "this isn't asgore's clone, this is-" "NEVERMIND, YOU ARE A LAZYBONES." "no, bro, haven't you read a history book?" "YES. ASGORE IS THE KING AND THIS… IS SOMEONE WHO IS NOT THE KING, I GUESS. WHY?" "there used to be a queen, too."

You can practically hear the cogs scraping together in Papyrus's head as he studies you, eyesockets squinting. His eyes suddenly open wide as his grin grows. "OH. MY GOD. ARE YOU…" he stage whispers to Sans at this point "WHAT WAS THE QUEEN'S NAME AGAIN?" "toriel." "ARE YOU TORIEL?" You nod and watch as he shakes with excitement. "OH MY GOD. I'M TALKING TO THE QUEEN! SANS, SANS LOOK, I'M TALKING TO THE QUEEN!" Sans sighs with… relief? and closes his eyes. "that's nice, bro. talk to her some more. i'm tired. bone-tired." "WOWIE! I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS, YOUR MAJESTY. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE KIND OF SPAGHETTI? WHAT KIND OF MAGIC DO YOU KNOW? AM I THE COOLEST PERSON YOU HAVE EVER MET?"

You think for a moment about how your mother would respond to this deluge of questions. You remember the soft sound of her voice, and begin your little charade in earnest. "Well… I do not eat spaghetti often, Papyrus, but if I were to eat spaghetti… I would probably have snail spaghetti." "SNAIL SPAGHETTI? INTRIGUING! I DIDN'T KNOW THAT SNAILS COULD BE USED IN PASTA! WOWIE, I'M LEARNING LOTS OF THINGS TODAY!" Papyrus looks absolutely ecstatic; Sans looks genuinely worried. "bro, you never thought of that? did it go right pasta your head?" "SANS. NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR YOUR HUMOR. PLEASE EXCUSE MY LAZY BROTHER, YOUR MAJESTY." "It is alright. I appreciate the jokes." God, it's awkward to talk without contractions- but your mother always was the formal type.

"IF YOU INSIST, O MIGHTY QUEEN," Papyrus huffs. If he had proper eyes he'd be rolling them. "BUT, NEXT QUESTION- WHAT KIND OF MAGIC DOES THE MIGHTY QUEEN OF MONSTERS USE? DO YOU USE BONES LIKE I, FUTURE ROYAL GUARDSMAN, PAPYRUS!?" Monsters from around the bar have started crowding around. Papyrus's impressive shouts about royalty and the return of the queen seem to have sparked some interest in the markedly-apathetic crowd. You hear muttering all around you, and a small, well-armoured canine monster is sent running for a history book, "for reference." You don't know how to answer the skeleton's question in-role (magical theory wasn't terribly interesting to you), but you could always demonstrate. Sure, lightning was easiest for you, but a little bit of effort never killed anyone.

White fire licks at your fingertips and dances in your palms as you smile shyly to the lanky skeleton. "I do not like to fight as much as Asgore, but if I have to, I prefer to use these." You release the twin spheres of fire and watch as they slowly dissipate into the air, magical energy coursing into the crowd. "WOWIE! FIRE, JUST LIKE THE GREAT KING! YOU MUST BE RELATED!" "papyrus no." "PAPYRUS YES!" The skeleton bows his legs and plants a hand on his chest. Even though you are indoors, a stiff breeze sails through his cape/scarf (it is both and neither) and its orange fibres flow gracefully in the spontaneous wind. Soft snickers erupt throughout the crowd as Papyrus continues. "IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW, O QUEEN. YOUR CASUAL DISDAIN FOR ASGORE. THE FACT THAT YOU ARE BOTH GOAT-MONSTERS. THE FACT THAT YOU HAVE THE SAME LAST NAME." Sans is tugging at Papyrus's arm and quietly telling him to stop.

"NO, SANS, THE TRUTH MUST BE REVEALED." He points an orange-gloved finger at you and shouts angrily. "QUEEN TORIEL, I HEREBY ACCUSE YOU OF ACTUALLY BEING ASGORE'S SISTER." At this ridiculous proposal, the crowd erupts into fullblown laughter. Sans covers his mouth with one hand and Papyrus beams into the crowd. "YES, LAUGH, LAUGH WITH ME AT THIS STRANGE COINCIDENCE." "paps that's not what they're laughing about." "NYEHEHEH! ONCE AGAIN, YOU HAVE ALL BEEN THOROUGHLY JAPED BY THE GREAT PAPYRUS!" The crowd's laughter subsides, if only a little.

"OBVIOUSLY, THE QUEEN COULD NOT BE THE KING'S SISTER. THAT WOULD BE GROSS."

You have no words to properly describe the level of absurdity that constitutes Papyrus. Suffice to say that your life has gotten much more interesting.

"REGARDLESS OF MY AMAZING JAPE, YOU STILL HAVE ONE QUESTION LEFT TO ANSWER. AM I, THE AMAZING PAPYRUS, THE COOLEST PERSON YOU HAVE EVER MET?"

Surrounded by a crowd of laughing strangers and face-to-face with the world's most jovial skeleton, the answer comes easily.

"Definitely."


	7. Papyrus's Pyjamas

**Next chapter's gonna take me a while... Sorry for slower uploads! I've been dealing with a lot of IRL stuff.**

The rest of the night passes quickly, with Sans making hilarious puns and Papyrus being his strange self. The crowd thins out as time wears on, and, bone-tired, the brothers give you an offer you can't refuse. That night, you are to stay at their lovely two-story house. You stiffen in the ice-cold breeze, but continue through the bar's door and into the snow. The skeleton brothers' house should be somewhere in the distance.

Papyrus crunches through the snow beside you, cheerfully shouting. "WHY, TOMORROW WE OUGHT TO COOK A GRAND MEAL. NO EATING OUT, SANS. JUST US, THE QUEEN, AND A HEAPING PLATE OF MY SPECIAL SPAGHETTI." From what you've gathered, Papyrus is a dreadful cook, incapable of producing anything remotely edible. He narrows his eyesockets a bit and looks side to side furtively. "…AND SANS CAN COOK HER THOSE WEIRD FRUIT-FILLED QUICHES OF HIS."

"they're called pies, bro."

"PIES, SCHMIES. THE POINT IS THAT WITH MY GLORIOUS SPAGHETTI AND YOUR WEIRD QUICHE, THE QUEEN WILL BE HAPPY. IT IS IMPORTANT TO TREAT ROYALTY WITH RESPECT SANS. ESPECIALLY ROYALTY THAT HAPPENS TO BE FRIENDS WITH YOU."

"Th-thank you for all of this, Papyrus, but I do not need any more luxury than-"

"bro, you consider tori here to be your friend?"

"TORI-EL, BROTHER. TORI-EL. STOP LEAVING OUT THE LAST BIT. AND YES, I DO. SOMEHOW, EVEN THOUGH I'VE JUST MET HER, I FEEL AS IF I'VE KNOWN HER FOR A LONG WHILE. LIKE WE'VE ALREADY DONE ALL OF THIS BEFORE."

Sans's smile tightens and the white lights in his eyesockets go out. He stops walking, as do you and Papyrus. "bro, what makes you say that?" You can tell that he's trying desperately to keep his tone conversational- and failing. Sweat drips from his skull and you can hear the strain in his voice.

"IT'S JUST THIS WEIRD FEELING I GET. LIKE HER NAME ISN'T EVEN TORIEL. IT'S… SOMETHING ELSE THAT I DO NOT REMEMBER. I FEEL LIKE I'VE FORGOTTEN A BUNCH OF IMPORTANT THINGS ABOUT THIS PERSON." Papyrus's smile drops and he looks nervous or… sad? "YOU MUST BE SO CONFUSED… WHATEVER YOUR REAL NAME IS. "

Jeeze, Papyrus is way smarter than you gave him credit for. You're not sure why Sans is freaking out all of a sudden, but Papyrus not only knows that you're a fraud, but is alright with it. You suppose that a person doesn't have to be dumb to have a big heart and a goofy smile.

"bro, that's pretty rude. why are you ribbing the queen?" The weak pun amuses nobody, and only makes Papyrus's frown (if you can call it that) deepen. "SANS. NOW IS NOT THE TIME. PLEASE, MA'AM, THIS HAS BEEN ANNOYING ME ALL NIGHT. WHAT IS YOUR REAL NAME?" You make eye-contact with the genuinely-worried skeleton and sigh. It would be so easy to continue this charade, but for Papyrus's sake, you need to tell the truth.

"No, Sans, Papyrus deserves answers. I was pretending to be Toriel… I just wanted to make you happy… I'm sorry for lying to you."

Papyrus gasps at this admission. "SORRY? WHY WOULD YOU BE SORRY?" He cracks a wide grin and plants a hand on his chest. The snow beneath him crunches as he takes on a heroic pose. "MADAME, IT MATTERS NOT TO ME WHETHER OR NOT YOU ARE THE QUEEN. IN FACT, I BELIEVE THAT YOU MIGHT BE THE QUEEN'S… DAUGHTER? I STILL GOT TO EAT DINNER WITH ROYALTY! NYEHEHEH!"

You're not entirely sure if Papyrus has forgiven you or missed the point of your apology entirely, but he seems mollified- and, as always, creepily prescient. How did he jump so quickly to Toriel being your mother? Was it that obvious? You aren't even related by blood.

Well, actually, you suppose that your current form was "inspired" by Toriel's. There's no records of anything remotely similar to your situation, but… You have your suspicions. Perhaps your shattered soul, leaking magic and desperate for a form to latch onto, chose the nearest available monster. That is what you choose to believe.

Papyrus's shouting is quick to rouse you from your idle thoughts. "AH, BUT LISTEN TO MY RAMBLING! EVEN FOR SOMEONE AS FUZZY AS YOU, IT MUST BE AWFULLY COLD OUT." He's right, there. "WE SHOULD CONTINUE ONWARDS, TO THE HOUSE! WE CAN DISCUSS THIS ONCE OUR ESTEEMED GUEST IS COMFORTABLE."

Sans lets out a breath, though he's still visibly tense. "y-yeah, bro, sounds like a good ice-dea."

"TERRIBLE."

Papyrus slings a bony arm around your shoulder. It digs into you slightly and kind of hurts, but you appreciate the friendly gesture. You reciprocate the action and Papyrus beams. Together, the three of you continue the long walk towards the skeletons' home. During this venture, you tell Papyrus about your mother, about the ruins, and inform him of your true name. He seems pleased with the facts and regularly offers tangentially-related quips in response to the trials and tribulations of your life.

Naturally, you leave out the bit where you used to be a human. You simply claim you were born in the ruins, as you did with Sans. The short skeleton winks at you when you repeat this part of your story, but says nothing. Maybe he knows something you don't?

Well, you're soon at their house, a handsome two-story abode decorated with multi-coloured Christmas lights. Its thick, glass windows and panelled boreal wood exterior give it a secure aura. You haven't even gone inside and you love this place already.

The door opens with a gratifying groan and you're treated to a burst of warm air. "WE ALWAYS KEEP OUR HOUSE WARM IN CASE OF VISITORS. NOT ALL ARE AS RESISTANT TO THE COLD AS US SKELETONS, YOU KNOW!" You're clearly in a living room of sorts- a kitchen sits before you, and to your left is a stairway that must lead upwards to the two skeletons' bedrooms. "I, BEING GREAT AND GENEROUS, SHALL SLEEP ON THE COUCH-"

"No."

"YOU WOULD REFUSE MY GENEROUS OFFER? TRULY, YOU ARE ALMOST AS GREAT AS I, PAPYRUS, FUTURE MEMBER OF THE ROYAL GUARD. VERY WELL THEN, PRINCESS. YOU SHALL SLEEP ON THIS LOVELY COUCH. IT TRULY SUITS SOMEONE OF YOUR STATUS." Was that sarcasm at the end? It totally was. The couch's leather is worn, cracked, and stained, and there's bits of its stuffing littered around the living room. That being said, it's pretty comfortable to lay on.

"DID YOU PACK PYJAMAS?" "No, I'll just sleep in my robes." "UNACCEPTABLE." The door's barely swung shut behind him and Papyrus is already fuming, stamping at the wooden floor and shouting even louder than usual. "WHY MUST EVERYTHING FALL UPON MY SHOULDERS? TRULY, I AM GREAT, FOR THIS PRESSURE WOULD BREAK A LESSER SKELETON THAN I! NYEHEHEHEHEH!" He bolts upstairs cackling joyfully. You look to Sans for guidance, hoping that he might shed some light on this nonsense, but he just shrugs.

"that's paps for ya."

Papyrus comes crashing down the stairs with heavy footfalls, clutching a set of red felt pyjamas emblazoned with little white snowflakes. How festive. "USUALLY I WEAR THESE AROUND GYFTROT, BUT SEEING HOW BADLY YOU NEED THESE FILLS ME WITH PITY. YOU MAY WEAR MY SANTA-APPROVED WEAR, BUT ONLY FOR TONIGHT!"

The two skeletons head upstairs to give you some privacy and you enter the kitchen to change.

The loose-fitting long-sleeved shirt of the outfit is silky and smooth, which almost makes up for the fact that its bottom is extremely short, baring your midriff to the world. Apparently Papyrus's sleepwear follows all the ridiculous rules of his armoured "battle body." At least the sweatpants included in the tacky ensemble are actually pants and not short-shorts. That would be humiliating. You grumble inwardly and fold up your robes. It would be pretty weird to sleep in them, you guess.

You call the brothers down. Somehow, Papyrus manages to fly down the flight of stairs in something best described as a combat roll, while Sans appears from the cabinet behind you. You turn to the shorter skeleton, shocked by his apparent indecency. "don't worry, lady. i didn't watch you while you were gettin' dressed. patella the truth, i was just takin' a shortcut to get down here." If it was anyone else, you'd be glaring daggers, but Sans is enough of a lighthearted prankster for you to actually believe him. You grumble to yourself and turn to Papyrus, who is practically whining for attention.

"BEFORE EVERYONE GOES TO SLEEP, WE SHOULD WATCH METTATON! HIS BEST SHOW SHOULD BE ON SOON!"

From what Papyrus has told you of Mettaton, the robot is something of a sex symbol and celebrity… Come to think of it, he might be the underground's ONLY celebrity. Whatever. If Papyrus likes it, it must be alright.

You settle down on the middle of the worn couch, Sans to your left and papyrus to your right. Sans clicks the television on, and soon the three of you are roaring with laughter (note to self: Mettaton is literally a box, how is he even a sex symbol?) at Mettaton's egotistical rampage through a miserable-looking region called "Hotland."

You find yourself drifting off while Mettaton rants about his upcoming film…

And you're out.


	8. Recollection

**Long wait before next chapter? I lied. Here's chapter 8. A weird dream sequence for you, dear readers.**

You're filled with unnatural warmth, bathed in a pale light that reminds you of mornings on the surface, mornings spent sipping orange juice and sighing at the voices of long-dead rockstars. With bare skin tingling at the sensation of brisk morning air and ears delighting in the first calls of the blue-jay, those times were beautifully simple. Things become more concrete, the light hardening into definite shafts… The warmth suffusing your form moves outwards, and you watch as light hardens with warmth into vague, writhing forms, snakelike and beautiful. Colour pulses around you, and you feel as if you're falling backwards, slowly…

You come-to seated in a wooden rocking chair, humming a song your mother taught you. Before you are two human children with identical dark-brown curly messes of hair. One has amber eyes and a purple-and-blue striped sweater. The other's eyes are the same crimson as yours, and their skin is unnaturally pale. They wear a green sweater with a single broad yellow stripe running through it. They are a few inches taller, and their smile is very wide. Both of the children are seated on a large, rounded rug with intricate abstract patterns sewn into it- it's a masterpiece of embroidery, though the children pay it no mind. Their attention is focused squarely on you.

Your consciousness begs you to put down the humans with a bolt of magical lightning. Humans take from people, humans are deadly, traitorous, ugly things that need to be wiped out before they wipe you out.

Instead, you open a small, leatherbound book and turn to a random page, yellowed parchment crackling in your clawed fingers. You try to tell the children to leave you alone. Instead, your mouth utters words not your own. "Since the two of you asked so nicely, I will read you a few facts from mother's favourite book." The two lean into each other, both grinning, as a third child walks into the room. This one is a boss monster like yourself, with nubs of horns poking through his fur and sapphire-blue eyes. He wears the same green sweater as the taller human.

More words come from your mouth that are not your own.

"Asriel! I am so glad that you have decided to join us! It is good that you have forgiven Chara…" Here, you turn to the taller human and give them a sharp glare. "For blindfolding you with your own ears. Now, everyone, are you ready for this reading?" A loud chorus of _yes_ comes forth from the trio of children seated before you, and you begin to read…

The story seems to be a child-friendly version of _Romeo and Juliet_ , with Juliet (and the rest of the Capulets) being a monster instead of a human. The story ends on a far lighter note than Shakespeare's tragedy- the lovers end up running away and getting their happy ending. Well! Good for them, you suppose.

You slam the book shut, watching a cloud of dust shoot forth from its yellowed pages.

"Did everyone enjoy the story?" The short human and "Asriel" nod cheerfully while the taller human clears their throat. "Yes, Chara?"

"Why hadn't the Montagues just killed the Capulets? I mean if they hated each other so much, wouldn't it have been easy? They could've turned the Capulets to dust… Not that I'm advocating human-on-monster violence or-" "That is enough, Chara." Your voice and glare are imperious as you stare down the pale human. Their grin falters some as their shoulders slump. "Okay, sis. I just think the story was kinda stupid. When are we gonna read a grown-up story?" _Sister?_ This HUMAN would dare to call you their sibling? The anger doesn't register on your face, of course, as this dream is more like a memory than the usual stories-in-your-head.

"Chara, please, you're upsetting Asriel." That much is true. The monster's eyes are welling up with tears as he sniffles pitifully, shrinking away from the sinister human. He clutches at the shorter human's arm as he looks at Chara nervously, stuttering his complaints out. "C-Chara, I don't like it when you get all… Violent-y? S-sometimes, I worry… That you s-still like hurting p-people… L-like you're not t-trying to be a good person… Chara, I w-want you to promise that y-you'll never hurt a-anyone ever again… Please?" Asriel is staring at Chara, now, practically pleading for something, anything. The short human's amber eyes catch Chara's ruby eyes, and Chara's gaze shifts shamefully towards the floor.

"I-I'm sorry, Asriel… I shouldn't have said that. I shouldn't have run my mouth like that…" They crane their head before they lean into Asriel, who is at this point trapped between the two human children. Chara tousles the young monster's hair and laughs quietly. "Can't make that kind of promise, though. I've gotta protect you and Frisk, you lil' dork!" Their grin comes back (though a fraction less wide) as they turn to face you. You nod silently.

Your mind, disconnected from the scene, takes note of Chara's diplomacy. A little rough around the edges, sure, but you have to respect how they handled the awkward situation.

The smaller human (are they "Frisk?") gives Chara a thumbs-up, and Chara laughs. "See, even Frisk knows that I'm good. So don't worry so much, Azzy." "Just promise me… Don't kill, and don't be killed, alright?" Chara looks at Asriel with some confusion for a moment, trying to mentally pick apart the monster's cryptic message. "Alright, lil' brother! If that'll make you happy, I'll do it." Chara's grin is almost as big as that of Sans. The smaller human smiles as well, and you go on one knee to encompass the three in a group hug. You hear your mother's voice from a few rooms over, echoing down the halls.

"Children, dinner is ready! Snail pie!" Chara and Frisk sigh quietly as you and Asriel cheer and quicken your paces towards Toriel's voice. Nothing would be better than snail pie…

The light fades and you hear a voice filling your consciousness…

 _"Please don't do this… I won't hurt him, I swear!"_

The world around you hardens again. This time, you are in a cold, grey-stone corridor. Frisk stands before you, heart-shaped locket around their neck and small, rusted dagger clutched white-knuckled in their left hand. Their hair is a mess and their sweater is badly-singed. They are crying. A part of you realises that despite being human, this person, this CHILD, needs help. They need your help. You want to help this beautiful, hideous, lovable, despicable child… Instead, you say nothing and launch a lance of golden magic straight through their chest. They crumple to the ground.

The world convulses around you, as if time is hiccuping.

The human strides towards you, DETERMINATION flashing in their eyes. You shoot them the glare you learned from your mother and launch twin bolts of magical energy towards the child in an X-shaped pattern. They step aside and dodge, bright-red SOUL glowing in their chest. They beg you to stop. You fire a lancing arc of lightning that bounces side-to-side down the hallway. The child dodges this, too. They plead. You fire. They plead. You fire.

Again and again, you slaughter the child.

Their eyes are scorched out by a particularly nasty bolt.

LOAD.

Their legs buckle under them thanks to a hard, physical blow from your left shin. You finish off the snivelling child with a jolt of golden-

LOAD

They stab you in the chest. A cloud of dust fills the air as you fall to your knees, defeated. Tears fill your eyes as you realise that you will never-

LOAD

You're at your wits' end. You've fired hundreds of lancing projectiles at this damned child, and they've dodged every single one. They look at you, determined, as you pant tiredly. "I can't… Let you… Kill him…"

"I won't."

"You might have fooled the others, but I'm smart enough to know what your kind does to monsters. Smart enough to remember."

"I won't kill him."

"Asgore is too much of a pushover for the likes of you… You'll gut him, and then you'll leave us without a king, won't you?"

"I won't."

"Do not lie to me, child."

You shoot them a hard glare as recollection flashes in their eyes. Their dagger drops to the ground with a hollow clatter as they race towards you, arms outstretched.

You SPARE the human.


	9. Rage

**Sorry for the long absence! You know how things are. Here's chapter 9 of Fallen.**

"…ake up…"

A deep voice echoes throughout your consciousness as the child shatters into a billion pinpricks of light. Darkness closes in, swallowing the light, and…

You awake to Sans' grinning countenance mere inches from your face. When you cry out in surprise, he's visibly amused.

"didya miss me?"

You do not dignify this question with a full sentence, instead simply rising from the couch and working a nasty crick from your neck. You wince at the pain as you shift your legs forward. At some point, your tall form ended up sprawled across the entire couch, legs going past its armrest and head awkwardly bent in order to fit next to the opposite rest. This positioning was, to say the least, incredibly uncomfortable. You briefly wonder how you managed it before you hear a distinct, tinny buzzing noise emanating from the kitchen, where you left your pack. Your phone is ringing.

You stumble into the kitchen, ignoring the warm scent of butterscotch and instead grabbing your phone from your pack. "MOM" is lit up on the screen as it buzzes in your hand. With a sigh, you click a button to accept the call and hold the phone to your ear. It's a bit muffled (you're not about to hold up your ear with the other hand just to get better sound), but you can make out Toriel's voice on the other end. She sounds… Excited? "My child, I am sorry that I had not called in such a long time. While you were away, a human fell into the flowerbed!" Your blood turns to ice.

A human. Humans are dangerous. Humans kill people. Humans hurt people. Humans take things away and never, ever give them back. And you've managed to leave your dear mother alone with one. Oh, God.

"…You have not spoken. Has your phone run out of batteries?"

"Mom, I want you to listen carefully." You're practically shouting now, your mind racing and paws pacing up and down the cold linoleum. "Get away from the human. Now."

"My child, that seems a little excessive, does it not? They are just a-"

This IDIOT doesn't understand how much danger she's in.

"I'm gonna stop you right there, Mom. Take it from someone who used to be one- for humans, there's no love or kindness. For them, this world has always been kill or be killed. There's no such thing as 'just a human,' because they're ALL dangerous."

"…They are just a child."

Your voice quiets down a bit, but you're still livid.

"So? A child can still hurt you. A child can still KILL you. A child can still take you away from me." Warm tears run down your cheeks, matting and darkening your fur as they run down your muzzle. "Please, Mom, I… I don't want you to die. I'm not ready to be alone again." Your voice is ragged and comes out between choked sobs. Damn you for getting overemotional, but the fact still stands that humans are DANGEROUS.

She says nothing as you gulp down cold air, trying to calm down.

"My child, I… Appreciate that you are being honest with me, but I do not believe that this child is harmful. They could not even bring themselves to hurt a dummy. And besides, you should not speak so poorly of your new sibling!"

That was just like Toriel. She was a mother to anyone who needed one, and by God, what a mother! You almost envy the young human, if only because they're surely being treated to butterscotch-cinnamon pie. Burgers from Grillby's are good, but not as good as your mother's cooking. Figures.

"My child, are you still there?" Oh, right.

"Y-yeah, Mom! If you really think they're a good person, I guess I'll believe you… What's their name, anyways?"

"Frisk."

Your eyes bug out at this and images come to you of a small, determined child wearing a heart-shaped locket.

You choke a bit and force yourself to respond. "Haha… That's. A nice name. Well mom I'll talk to you later-"

Wait.

Wait wait wait.

Last night you learned that she used to be the QUEEN OF MONSTERKIND. You should probably ask her about that.

"Well, my child, if that is-"

"Wait."

"What is it, dear? Is there something else you would like to talk about?"

You feel your cheeks burning as you answer, words running out of your mouth like water from a faucet. "Well, you're apparently the queen? And you had a kid with Asgore but they're dead or something and you adopted a human once but I guess they died too? S-so I guess you're Asgore's ex and you hate his guts because of the whole human-killing thing. Right? A-and I'm sorry for mentioning your kid but I guess they're relevant because it'd be nice to have a sibling and oh God I'm rambling, aren't I?"

You expect some form of response.

You faintly hear sobbing from the other end, punctuated by choked apologies. Then…

She hangs up.

You hear a quiet cough from behind you and turn around, coming face-to-face with Sans. His smile is visibly strained and sweat beads on his bony brow, dripping down the contours of his wide skull. "sorry, kiddo, but i couldn't help but overhear your convo. seems like you're having problems with your mom."

Your eyes narrow into a sharp glare in response. "None of your business."

"heh. fair enough. i think that you were pretty awful back there but that's just a lazybones talking. oh, and one more thing."

"Sans, I was not awful, that had to be said… And the fact that I wasn't even the first, the fact that she never-"

His eyes go pitch black, white lights within vanishing.

"you're not a real monster, are you?"

You ball your fists and clench your teeth.

"Sans, that's ridiculous."

The lights return to his eyes. "heh, I know, right? but i was just thinkin' that, y'know, you're pretty weird. for starters, monster magic is almost always white, with blue and orange attacks mixed in. your magic was yellow."

"So?"

"well, i've heard that human magic takes on different colors is all. and, well, combined with your weird name and lack of a father…"

"Sans, you're being absurd. Stop." Your cheeks burn with a blush that is surely visible through your fur and you tremble like a leaf as you stand before the stocky skeleton. Despite his slovenly appearance and laid-back demeanour it strikes you that Sans is probably smarter than he lets on. The way he studies you, the way his prattling manages to cut into just the right parts of your psyche…

"eh, i know, right? anyways, i figured we'd do a little test. no offense, but that whole "i used to be a human" line during your phonecall caught my attention."

So he WAS listening in.

"I-it was just a figure of speech."

"uh-huh."

Sans walks toward the front door and motions for you to follow. You're still wearing pyjamas, but whatever. Your fur will keep you warm enough. Your horns scrape against the top of the door's frame as you head outside, sending a dull ache through your skull. You're ready for whatever Sans' little "test" is.

He sighs and moves a palm to face you. "kiddo, i really hate to do this, but i have to be sure that you're, well, you."

Suddenly, white bones materialize and fly towards you. The stream parts as it approaches you, and the bones end up crashing into a snowdrift behind you. A small shower of snow chills your back, but you are otherwise unharmed.

Until… You feel a familiar warmth in your chest. You've only been in one FIGHT before, a simple match between yourself and your mother to test your magic. You feel like a freak as a pale yellow heart materializes in front of your chest, glowing softly. Your SOUL.

You know that only humans are supposed to have their soul shaped like this, that monster souls have the point facing upwards, that only a human soul will exit the body during a FIGHT. It's a painful reminder that you're not a real monster, merely a second-rate imitation.

Sans' grin droops a little as he regards your soul, sweat dripping from his brow. "so. that's interesting." He drags his feet through the snow as he approaches until he's only a foot away. You can see the pinpricks of light in his eyesockets darting to and fro nervously. You have no doubt that his mind is racing with possible explanations for your anomalous soul.

"are you sure that was a figure of speech? because this looks an awful lot like a human soul."

"Shut up."

"not that i'm an expert on souls or anything. no offense, but are you _sure_ that you're toriel's kid? i don't wanna rib ya, buuuut, well…"

"Shut. Up."

You hear a quiet, happy voice in the back of your head.

 _'C'mon, dummy, you know he won't let you live. He knows what you used to be, and, well, you said it yourself. Kill or be killed.'_

Kill or be killed. You force yourself to bare your fangs at the skeleton as you let golden electricity flow to your palms.

 _'Turn him into dust. You're no human. He deserves to die for even suggesting that you're not the future of this world.'_

Turn him into dust?

"kiddo, what do you think you're doing?"

That's a wonderful idea!


	10. Rampage

**Howdy, readers! Here's a short chapter before Christmas! I'll resume writing on December 26th!**

 **Chapter 10, in which we deal with some complex emotions! Mostly anger, fear, and regret.**

 **Fun.**

You are filled with DETERMINATION as you stare down Sans, your mind made. Power courses from your core out to your limbs, and you feel foreign energy pulsing in your head, making your brain reel with new thoughts and perceptions.

Words that are not quite your own bubble out of your throat like tar out of a pit, swinging forth calm but syncopated. " **You treasonous idiot.** " The lightning in your palms flares brighter as you raise your arms above your head, bringing your hands together. A great ball of golden lightning flashes brightly above you. " **Do you have any idea who I am?** " You release the ball of magic, aiming square at Sans' chest. " **Die.** "

But he does not die. He sidesteps your magic with practiced ease, grimacing as it scorches a dark mark into the side of his house. "kiddo, i don't know what's gotten into you, but cut it out. this isn't funny."

You let loose a long, keening cackle as you form two more bolts of magical energy in your hands, fingers going numb. " **I am the future of this world. I am the child of house Dreemurr, and you dared to SLANDER me.** " You release this attack in an x-shaped pattern, hoping to catch the skeleton on one of its edges. He jumps three feet in the air, dodging your attack altogether.

 _'He can't keep dodging forever. Keep attacking.'_

"i'm serious. knock it out."

You laugh once more and ready a third magical attack, electricity flaring unpredictably. You wink at the skeleton winningly and shake your head with a cocky smirk. Idiot. " **I'm only doing this because I have to, you know.** "

"you don't have to."

You release a single, curved arc of lightning that sidewinds towards Sans. He ducks under it.

"if you keep doing this…" his eyesockets go black and his grin widens. "well, you're not gonna like what happens next."

You remain silent as you ready your fourth attack. The bastard's resilient, but you can sense that he can only stand one good blow. If he'd just stop moving!

 _'Get ready to dodge.'_

You instinctively lurch to the right as a stream of sharpened bones comes flying towards you from Sans' hand, sending snow flying as you faceplant on the ground. The electricity flaring in your hands goes loose and snakes along the ground, evaporating snow as it lazily winds toward Sans. He sidesteps the misfired attack.

"don't say i didn't warn you."

You right yourself and laugh bitterly. " **For so long, I've dreamed of** this..."

You form a lance of lightning in your hand and charge at the skeleton. He trips you and releases a single, sharpened bone that shreds through your pyjamas and carves deep into your thigh. You go down on one knee, grunting with pain as rivulets of grey dust run down your leg. "You're going… To have… To try harder than that."

"no, i won't. get up." He extends a bony hand in an offering of peace.

You produce a ruby-red dagger in your palm and attempt to slice the hand off.

He dodges, like he always does.

 _'You're hurt pretty bad,'_ the voice observes solemnly. You know.

You feel a second surge of magic course through your body as the bone is pushed out of your wound, landing in the snow with a soft _thump_. You watch with wonder as the wound closes itself, lines of red magic etching their way over your fur like a spiderweb. You rise to your paws, then continue rising, hovering a few feet above the ground. You laugh in sheer delight at your own abilities as you form an array of blood-red knives forms behind you.

 _'You're welcome.'_

Sans looks on in awe as tinges of scarlet run through your soul, holding it together. You giggle mirthfully as your daggers make wide slashes at the skeleton, twirling and glimmering through the air like a flock of sparrows.

The portly skeleton circles you, dancing through the veritable cloud of daggers and keeping eye contact.

Minutes pass like this, the sharp, high-pitched noise of knives slashing through air contrasted by the deep noise of Sans' quick breaths. Each could be his last.

" **Do** you know **what it's like on the surface?** " You let the crimson knives stop for a moment.

 _'What are you doing?'_

"I don't **know why, but people** expect **it** to **be some amazing place where dreams come true.** "

 _'Kill him.'_

You release three knives, each aiming for his skull. He ducks. The three knives dissolve into a cloud of red mist. " **But they haven't lived there**. They haven't seen what I have."

Sans looks at you, white lights returning to his eyes.

"kiddo-"

" **Humans** are nothing like monsters… Down here, everyone acts kind and accepting, **but up there** …"

With the flick of a wrist, a knife moves to sever Sans' spine. He steps right and the knife embeds itself in the snow.

"Up there, well, it's **kill or be killed**. I know what you'll **do to me** if I stop fighting you."

"please…"

 _'Try harder! Stop talking and start stabbing, you-"_

"I know you'll **hurt me**. **That's what people do** , isn't it? They hurt each other, like **they hurt me**."

You grin widely and point several knives at the skeleton.

" **It's my turn to do the hurting**."

 _Shunk, shunk, shunk._

All misses. They cruised right past Sans without leaving so much as a scratch on him.

"i know you don't want to fight me. please, you're in there somewhere, right? that lady i hung out with at grillby's?"

 _'twist the blade, watch as that stupid smiley skull of his dissolves into-"_

The knives twitch weakly in the air, glimmers of gold running through them.

"I'm a fake."

"please."

"Worse than a fake, a phony."

"please don't."

"Just kill me."

You let yourself fall to the ground in a heap, fur intermingling with dust-stained snow. You're so tired.

"no."

You turn to meet his gaze weakly, groaning as the knives around you dissipate into clouds of harmless magical energy. The voice in your head is screaming now, but you do not heed it.

You hear a quiet _ping_ as your soul turns baby-blue and you're hoisted into the air by some invisible force, then dropped into Sans' waiting arms.

"I'm so sorry, Sans."

"i know you are."

"I don't want you to go, Sans."

"i won't."

"I don't want to be like them, Sans."

"you aren't."

…

"Sans?"

"yeah?"

 _'Screw this, you're boring. Maybe I'll have better luck with the human."_

"Can you promise me one thing?"

"what is it, kiddo?"

"That you'll never call me that again."

"what, kiddo? okay, i guess i can go back to calling you-"

"No, human. I'm… I'm just… Not one, okay? I never was one of them, not really."

Sans' eyesockets widen a bit as his grin stiffens.

"…m'sorry," he mumbles, barely audible over the high-pitched wind whipping past the two of you.

"Sans, I-"

"i promise, kiddo. that was pretty boneheaded of me, anyways."

"Thank you."

You laugh weakly at Sans' pun as he carries you in his arms, trudging through the blizzard.

Back to his house.

The door opens with a bone-shaking groan and Papyrus dashes down the stairs cheerfully.

His cheer subsides when he sees your near-unconscious form cradled in his brother's arms, dust staining your borrowed pyjamas.

"SANS! SMALL ASGORE! WHAT HAS HAPPENED?"

"there was an argument," Sans mumbles, setting you down on the couch. A small cloud of dust rises as you sink into the seat, and sink back into unconsciousness.

YOU ARE NOW THE SHORT SKELETON


	11. Regret

**Howdy, readers! At some point, we've, uh, reached over 100 followers on this story. So that's interesting.**

 **Consider this our 100-follower-special. More angst, more feels, more EMOTIONAL THINGS.**

Your brother's usually-cheerful countenance is marred by an expression of worry as he stands over the couch, gloved hands shaking as he surveys the dust staining Her clothing. Papyrus deserves better than this. He shouldn't be the one worrying. He should be cooking spaghetti, he should be working on his puzzles, he should be, well, happy. And he's not. You sigh as you look up at him. He's trembling at the sight of the battered boss monster lying on the couch. Big, sparkling tears run from both of his eyesockets.

"BROTHER… IS SHE GOING TO WAKE UP?" The question hits you like a punch to the proverbial gut. You've tried so hard for so long to protect your precious brother's innocence. Seeing him come to conclusions about mortality is excruciating. "yeah bro, i'm sure she'll be fine." For all you know, she could be a pile of dust in minutes.

And even setting aside your brother's tenuous grasp on childlike wonder, there's the issue of the woman lying on your couch. She DID try to kill you. Sure, after you accused her of being a human and telling her that she wasn't really her mother's child, but-

Huh. You kind of fucked up there. Oops. Well, if she wakes up- no, _when_ she wakes up, you'll be sure to apologize. And, uh, ask about that weird fixation on knives.

You should probably get that checked out. Some half-forgotten part of your mind demands it.

You do your best to console Papyrus, earning a weak smile and a cessation of tears from your brother. Man, you REALLY fucked up back there. Sure, the whole trying-to-murder-you thing of hers was going a little far, but she's still a kid. A kid with a temper issue.

Feeling a little better about your most recent battle, you go back to the kitchen and check on your cooking- cinnamon-butterscotch pie, a recipe you learned from… What was her name? Toriel, right. The pie's coming along nicely enough and Papyrus has a small but genuine smile, so you consider your work done.

Your brother's already wearing his "battle body" and you've already put on your signature blue hoodie and basketball shorts. Once the pie is done, you'll have to head back outside for sentry duty. The cold doesn't really bother you, but there's nowhere comfortable to lie down for a nap.

Such are the struggles of your life.

You briefly consider staying home to ensure that the queen's daughter is alright, but some small part of you demands that you go out to search for humans. It'll probably be another day of futile door-watching, but you've learned to trust your proverbial gut. If it tells you to go to sentry duty, then you'll go.

You idly flip through your old, black-leather journal as you sit with your back to the counter, waiting for your pie to finish. Papyrus screams about you "reading your life away," or something to that effect, but you cheerfully ignore him as you flip through old entries. It feels good to reminisce.

Until you come upon today's entry, already written, describing a human coming through the door, dust-stained and crying. This entry ends suddenly, then describes the same child coming through the door cheerfully with not a hint of dust on them. A note in the margins points out the similarity of the entries, along with the text: "anomaly?" You nervously turn the page, breath catching in your figurative throat as you find more entries, all the same, less and less descriptive. _"Kid came through the door." "Another reset."_ The word "anomaly" appears more and more often, and hazy memories come to you of a dark laboratory deep in the lava-filled Hotland…

Each entry ends in one of two ways- either the human leaves and Asgore dies, or the barrier is shattered and the next entry suddenly begins.

Except for one. Fingers trembling, you flip through your journal until you come to a page stained with blood and dust.

 _"They're different this time. They've been hurting people."_

 _"Snowdrake is dead."_

 _"Icecap is dead."_

 _"Chilldrake is dead."_

 _"Found Lesser Dog's armour in the snow."_

 _"Doggo is dead."_

 _"Greater Dog murdered."_

 _"Dogamy and Dogaressa killed."_

 _"Snowdin evacuated."_

 _"It killed my brother."_

 _"Aaron killed."_

 _"Moldbygg is gone."_

 _"Temmie village evacuated."_

 _"Woshua is dust."_

 _"Undyne dead."_

 _"This is why I don't make promises."_

 _"Killed it."_

 _"Killed it again."_

 _"It keeps coming back."_

 _"Killed it."_

 _"How many times is it going to come back?"_

That's the end of the disturbing entry .

The next simply says:

 _"Guess it gave up. Kid is back to normal. Everyone is alive."_

That's the end of your journal.

You shiver despite the fact that you're physically incapable of feeling cold and turn to look at Papyrus before taking your pie out of the oven. The kitchen is filled with the warm smells of cinnamon and butterscotch. You set it on the counter to cool before waving goodbye to Papyrus and taking a "shortcut" to your sentry station. He seems quite stunned that, for once, you're the first to leave the house…

You read the journal, but you have to see this "kid" with your own eyes. Someone who had spared so much, and slain so much… What would they be like?

…-

 **Hmmm? Oh, dear reader, we haven't forgotten our ex-human champion (my, how she would come to hate that mantle). What's important is that while Sans was out meeting a human and helping them through Papyrus's puzzles (not that they needed help), she had fallen into a deep, deep slumber. It's quite miraculous that she did not die that day, but those with yellow souls have a way of evading certain death. They tend to die on their own terms. I can respect that!**

 **I wish that I had died so regally.**

 **But enough of my story. It's not terribly interesting, after all, and our heroine will awake soon enough! What was the phrase I used? Oh, yes.**

 **YOU ARE NOW THE "CHAMPION." I use the term very loosely.**

…-

…

 **What? You're asleep! You didn't expect anything terribly interesting to happen to you while you were sleeping, did you? Look how tired she- I mean, YOU must be.**

 **Oh, enough of my babbling. This story is for you, not me.**

 ***AHEM***

You awake slowly, starting with your eyes opening and ending with a rush of sensation to your paws and hands, numbness in your body subsiding. That… Fight (if you could call it that) had taken quite a bit out of you, both literally and figuratively. You check your leg and are relieved to find no visible wounds, though the flesh underneath your fur is still tender and sore. You choke back a gag at the sight of your own dust coating your borrowed pyjamas, quickly looking away.

You're pretty sure that you're alone, and you're not about to wear clothes covered in the monster equivalent of blood and guts. That'd be gross, right?

Looking both ways to make sure that you're alone, you hobble into the kitchen, hissing in pain every time you put too much weight on your recently-damaged right leg. You rummage through your pack until you find what you're looking for- your usual purple robes and a jar of brined snails. You quickly redress in your normal gear before carefully folding up Papyrus's pyjamas. You leave them sitting on top of the dishwasher, torn and dusty. You slowly limp back into the living room with your pack slung around your shoulder before brushing a bit of dust off the couch and sitting down with a sigh.

You're tired, but not too tired to eat. With one hand you pop the lid off of the jar of snails and begin snacking. With the other, you check your cell phone for missed calls.

Six, all from your mother.

Your stomach (if your magical digestive tract even has a proper stomach) turns as you realise what you've done to the poor woman. The things you said, about her past, about her dead son…

Completely unacceptable.

You bite your lip as you call her back, holding the phone to your ear.

Your call is answered in a matter of seconds, the voice on the other end of the line ragged and tired. You feel a pang of guilt for leaving your mother so distraught.

 _'Look how badly you've hurt her. Just like a human, don'tcha think?'_

The voice from earlier, or some hideous echo of it, burns through your mind.

"My child, are you there?"

The distorted voice in the back of your head gives a long, keening laugh- a perfect imitation of your own.

 _'You're not hers.'_

"I-I'm here, yeah."

 _'You were never hers. '_

"My child, I apologize for that. I should not have acted so rashly."

 _'…I can fix that…'_

You struggle to focus on Toriel's words, as they're nearly drowned out by the incessant babble in the back of your head.

"Mom, you shouldn't be apologizing. I was the one who brought up those things, and I really, really shouldn't have."

 _'…we can fix that…'_

"My child, you simply did not know better, I… I am sorry."

…

The voice swells in emotion and volume, blocking out all other noise.

 _'I know what she sees when she looks at you. I know why she kept you around.'_

"…and I know that it's been difficult to adjust to…"

 _'Every time she looks at you, she sees an echo of him.'_

"…so proud of everything you've…"

 _'But you'll never fill that gap. Not perfectly.'_

"…best child I could ever ask for…"

 _'He deserved better than this. We all deserved better than this.'_

"I am sorry for rambling, but…"

 _'Sorry for interrupting, but…'_

"I just wanted to let you know how much I love you. That no matter how much we may fight or argue, my love for you, my child, is unconditional."

 _'I just wanted you to know that everything I've been doing to you… The fight with Sans, all of it… I'm doing it for him. I'm doing it because I care.'_

"Do you forgive me, daughter?"

 _'Forgive me, Asriel.'_

You recover your reason, and give the only answer worth giving.

"There is nothing to be forgiven."


	12. Promises

**Sorry for my extended absence! Dealing with depression, a new therapist, and life in general has been pretty time-consuming.**

 **Also, writers' block. It's a nightmare. Anyways, here's a short-but-sweet Chapter 12, in which our heroine has an important chat.**

Following a long, heartfelt conversation with your mother, you're left to your own devices.

And to a delicious jar of snails.

Just as you're about to dig in, the door swings open behind you, letting in a blast of ice-cold air. It slams shut, and you turn around to come face-to-face with Sans.

That's not good.

Sans is evidently quite surprised to see you awake- he takes a sharp breath and steps back into the door. "uh, no hard feelings, right?"

Why is everyone apologizing for things that are your fault?

"Sans, I, uh… Haven't… Been… Truthful? With you? Uh, I mean…"

You watch as his expression softens a little. He walks on over and plops down on the couch next to you with a sigh. "whaddaya mean? what's got your goat?"

That was totally meant to be a goat pun, wasn't it?

"Well, uh, remember our… Fight?"

"yeah, kiddo, sorry about that."

"No, no, no, don't be! That was my fault! It's just, uh, that your suspicions were… Maybe… Not totally unfounded."

The skeleton's grin droops a little as he gazes upon you with what you think is concern. "kiddo, what are you talkin' about?"

"I… Wasn't always a boss monster."

Sans' grin quickly shifts into a grimace. "buddy, you're not very humerus. put a little more backbone into your jokes, yeah?"

You groan at the dreadful duo of puns before summoning it from your chest… A familiar heat builds from your sternum, radiating outwards. A pale yellow glow fills the room as you summon forth your soul.

Sans is visibly uncomfortable with seeing your soul outside of your body. "th-that's a neat trick and all, but i don't really see what it's proving."

And that's when you break.

"It's a human soul, Sans. A dirty, depleted soul that _used to_ belong to a human, anyways. This is all that I have left, you know that? This soul has seen sunlight, and massive cities filled with humans, and the stars at night. It's been to the ocean, a great body of salt water covering most of the world, it's been to the mountains and deserts of my homeland. All of that's gone, and I'll never see it again. I lost so much freedom, but you know what? _It was worth it_."

"still waiting for the punchline."

You don't particularly care about what the skeleton is saying- you're entirely too busy venting. "That's… That's the real reason I wanted to come out here, out of the ruins. Not for new experiences or new friends, but to ensure that the barrier would never be broken." A lie, but it sounds like a good plan now that you think of it.

"still waiting."

"Sans, you don't know humans like I do. They'll treat us like wild animals, they'll murder us or stick us into ghettos to starve. That's what humans do to people who are different. I've seen it happen before, and I'll be damned if I let it happen again. As long as we stay down here, the humans will remain ignorant. They think we're the stuff of legends and fairytales and they won't hurt us."

"you sound awfully scared, pal."

"I have every right to be. If the barrier is shattered, we'll be hunted down and driven into dust."

"ya sound awful sure of that."

"I used to be one of them, Sans. Humans don't need love or compassion to get by. As long as they have a goal to work towards, or something to be afraid of, they keep going. They're the most determined things alive. If the barrier is shattered, we'll all die. Plain and simple."

"determined? heh. kiddo, A."

Eyesockets black and grin vacant, Sans grins at you yet through you. You struggle to maintain your composure, but just as you're about to lose it Sans reverts to his normal self.

"y'know, it's kind of obvious that you are- i mean, were a human."

"How so?"

"you suck at magic."

"Thanks, Sans."

The skeleton winks lazily at you and slumps forward, elbows resting on his knees.

"anytime, pal."

"So, uh, you're not gonna interrogate me about any of this? If I was in your shoes I'd be asking a lot more questions."

"being curious can only get you so far," the skeleton mutters cryptically. Gee, Sans. How helpful.

"Nothing, then. Okay. If that's what you want, I guess I can't-"

Sans' grin widens as he looks you up and down before flashing you a knowing wink. "kiddo, if i was you i'd move this conversation to my bedroom."

"Why?"

"we have visitors."

Well, that's one way to get your ass off of a couch and scrambling up the stairs. Sans is, somehow, already at the top of the stairs, cheerfully waving to you.

Somewhere downstairs, you hear the tell-tale slam of the front door. "YES, HUMAN, COME IN, COME IN!" Papyrus is home. With a human.

Shit.

You quickly veer right after Sans as he opens the door to his bedroom. Papyrus begins to bemoan your absence as you slip inside.

Sans quickly locks the door behind the two of you with a sigh. His bedroom is…. An absolute mess. A greasy, unwashed ball of sheets sits in one corner of the room, a pile of dirty socks sits opposite it. To your right is a literal self-sustaining tornado of garbage, and in the centre of the room is a treadmill running on its minimum speed.

None of this really surprises you- you're pretty much immune to surprise at this point. Yeah, sure, Sans has a sock collection, why not? It's not like anything else about him makes sense.

"heh. i usually don't let people in here, but i'll make an exception for you, sweetheart." He winks 'flirtatiously,' sending a blush to your face. You're certain that he can see it through all of your fur because his shit-eating grin just grows wider. "what, am i not allowed to be bonely? i don't have a skele-ton of close friends." You can practically hear the rimshot going off at his… _Sans_ -sational puns.

He's corrupting you.

"uh, anyways, i figured we should talk in private about this 'i used to be a human' thing of yours. sounds kinda important."

"Oh, so you do care?"

"i've gotta keep up appearances, buddy. can't let people start thinking they can count on me for anything. too much work."

The scary part isn't that Sans is disgustingly lazy- it's that you kind of agree with him. He really IS a bad influence.

"anyways, start from the top of your story. i want to know exactly what happened."

You tell Sans about your terrible excuse for a life on the surface- your cultishly devout mother and layabout drunkard of a father, your few "friends" and your many tormentors. You tell him about your old hobbies and theories about Mount Ebbot and the secrets it might hold.

"i think i'm starting to see why you dislike humans so much."

You laugh and continue your story in the underground- starting with Toriel's vague description of a "demon that is neither human nor monster," which earns you a frown from Sans. You discuss waking up, finding your new body, learning to control it and your budding magical abilities. A small smile comes to your face as you talk about hunting snails and cooking pies with your mother, or sitting together in the living room and reading old novels. It was a simple life, sure, but a good one. So much better than the surface.

Sans' grin widens when he sees the smile on your face. "heh. sounds like you've really come to enjoy being a monster."

"Duh."

He plants a hand on his chest and gives you a fake gasp. "you offend me."

"A-anyways, back to business, right? You want to know about my soul or something, right?"

"nah, i don't really care about that."

"What do you want, then?"

"a promise. i promised to never call you a human again. i need you to promise me something- that you will never hurt papyrus or the human downstairs."

Your left eye twitches a little at the mention of leaving the human be, but if Sans cares so much… You can't bear to deny him his request. He deserves it, especially after what you tried to do to him.

Y'know, attempted homicide.

You crack a pitiful smile and affirm that you will, in fact, ensure that you do not hurt the human child.

 **What an interesting timeline this will be!**


End file.
